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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29672634">Most Important Choice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/handwrittenhello/pseuds/handwrittenhello'>handwrittenhello</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, BAMF Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Childhood Friends, F/M, Friends to Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Hurt Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Suicide Attempt, Trials, Witcher Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), Witchers Need Hugs (The Witcher), Young Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Young Witchers (The Witcher), Young Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, canon suicide attempt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:06:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,730</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29672634</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/handwrittenhello/pseuds/handwrittenhello</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Yennefer portals herself out of the barn in Vengerberg, she's surprised to find herself in Kaer Morhen, home of the wolf witchers, and with the path blocked by snow, she has no choice but to stay.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Most Important Choice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yennefer closes her eyes in a barn in Vengerberg, feeling rough hands on her, wishing for someplace else—and gets it.</p>
<p>She opens her eyes to a courtyard ringed by stone walls, frigid air filling her lungs as she lets in a small gasp.</p>
<p>“Who’re you?” someone nearby asks—a boy, old enough for his voice to have dropped, but only barely. Yennefer sits up, hands curling into fists against the bite of cold.</p>
<p>“Where am I?” she demands.</p>
<p>“Kaer Morhen. How’d you get here?” the boy asks, crouching down to perch on his heels. “Humans can’t get through the pass this early.”</p>
<p>“You’re not human?” He <em>looks </em>human—no fangs or claws or too-shiny eyes to give him away—but there’s a deliberateness to his movements that puts her on edge.</p>
<p>“Well, I am, but not for much longer. Vesemir says that we’ll be ready to take the trials by summer.”</p>
<p>Nothing this boy says makes sense. Then again, teleporting to a weird castle doesn’t make sense. Yennefer struggles to her feet, boots slipping in the muddy patches. The boy holds out a hand to help her up, but she doesn’t want it. “What are you talking about? And what kind of place is this, anyway?”</p>
<p>“Kaer Morhen, in the Blue Mountains. Home of the Wolf witchers,” the boy says proudly, puffing out his chest.</p>
<p><em>Witchers. </em>Even more concerning than the fact that she’s apparently traveled hundreds of miles from home in the blink of an eye, is the knowledge that she’s landed in the middle of a fortress owned by the most dangerous men on the Continent. Men who could do whatever they like to her, with nobody else around for miles.</p>
<p>She spots a gate on the far end of the courtyard and starts walking. If she could only close her eyes and wish herself someplace else again… she doesn’t want to go home, but it’s far better than staying in a den of wolves.</p>
<p>“Hey! Where are you going?” the boy asks, jogging to catch up to her, maddeningly easy with her limp. “You can’t go down the trail—it’s all snowed over.”</p>
<p><em>“Don’t </em>tell me what I can’t do,” Yennefer bites.</p>
<p>The boy changes tack. “Well then, if you’re so set on heading out, at least let me get you better boots. Those will tear to shreds in half a mile.” He gestures to her sodden boots, which do indeed look seconds away from falling apart.</p>
<p>“Fine,” she growls, and lets him lead her into the keep, which is alive with a murmur of voices from every hall. As soon as they cross the threshold, it all falls silent, save for the merry crackling of the fire in the hearth.</p>
<p>“Master Vesemir,” the boy greets the old witcher who comes to meet them in the foyer.</p>
<p>“Geralt. Who do you have here?” the old witcher asks, peering at her with suspicious yellow eyes. Yennefer glares back.</p>
<p>“I think she portaled in,” the boy—Geralt—explains. “Where are you from?” he asks, turning to her.</p>
<p>“Yennefer of Vengerberg. What do you mean, I portaled?” That makes it sound like—like <em>magic. </em></p>
<p>“You’re a long ways from Vengerberg,” Vesemir replies. “And unless you can portal back, you can’t leave the keep until thaw, not unless you want to freeze to death.”</p>
<p>Yennefer grits her teeth. She knows he’s right—even though it’s March, the mountains don’t thaw until well into spring. “You can’t <em>keep </em>me,” she spits.</p>
<p>“You don’t have a choice,” Vesemir says stiffly. “If you want to go die in a snowdrift, be my guest. Just do it far enough away that your corpse doesn’t attract wolves.” He crosses his arms and looks at her, daring her to leave, and she could scream she’s so frustrated.</p>
<p>When she doesn’t move, though, Vesemir nods. “Geralt, find her a room. She’ll be shadowing you on chores tomorrow.” With that, he walks away, and Geralt slowly moves to take her hand, curled into a fist, giving her plenty of chance to pull away.</p>
<p>She does, and ignores how he hides his hurt. He swallows and gestures for her to follow him, leading her on a winding tour throughout the keep, until they reach a small room, barren but for a bed with a chest at the foot of it, and a washbasin with a mirror above it.</p>
<p>“Do you like it? I can get more blankets if you need,” Geralt offers, hand scratching nervously at the back of his neck. “I know it isn’t much, but when the path clears we can head to the village and get supplies—that’s how a lot of us make this drafty old place more comfortable.”</p>
<p>“When the path clears, I’m going home,” Yennefer snaps. “Get out.”</p>
<p>Geralt’s face falls, but he retreats, shutting her door behind her. She listens for him to walk away—only for his footsteps to stop mere paces away. She hears a door nearby open and shut—oh, gods, has he put her right next to his room? What a—a presumptuous ass!</p>
<p>She huffs and kicks off her sodden boots, throwing herself onto her new bed. It’s wildly uncomfortable, the mattress lumpy and the blankets scratchy, but seeing as she’s still chilled, she angrily wraps herself up in them.</p>
<p>Stupid freezing mountains. Stupid keep, and stupid witchers, who pretend to know what’s best for her, hiding their obvious want for her underneath a guise of caring.</p>
<p>She has no doubts that they’ll just <em>let her go</em> come spring. Not to mention, how is she supposed to travel all the way back to Aedirn, alone and unarmed? No, they’ll make her stay, under pretense of care, and do whatever they like with her—she’s heard the stories of witcher cruelty. She is, for all intents and purposes, at their mercy, <em>forever. </em></p>
<p>As tears begin to roll down her face, an idea strikes her. She still has the most important choice of all, doesn’t she? The choice to live or die. Nobody can take that from her.</p>
<p>She untangles herself from the blankets and walks over to the small mirror above the washbasin. She looks a mess—hair askew, straw and mud tangled into it, and face ruddy with tears. She punches the glass, feeling the sting of glass slicing open her knuckles, but it’s nothing compared to the pain of feeling so hopelessly trapped.</p>
<p>From the hallway comes the sound of approaching footsteps and rowdy voices, teasing, shouting over each other. It’s another reminder of how hopelessly outnumbered she is.</p>
<p>She picks up the biggest, sharpest shard and makes the cut.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Pain. Burning, biting, all-encompassing pain is all Yennefer can feel—it yanks her out of the blackness she had so willingly fallen into, slamming into her like a door blown open by a harsh gust of wind.</p>
<p>She screams, writhing, but there’s something holding her down at her wrists and ankles. There’s also a strange weight atop her left hand—it’s warm, and gripping her hand tightly. She squeezes back, nails digging into calloused flesh, an anchor tying her to reality beyond the endless pain ravaging her body, melting her organs and tearing into every muscle.</p>
<p>She’s still screaming, hasn’t stopped screaming, in fact, but she can hear something past the raw animal sounds tearing their way out of her throat. It’s a boy, old enough for his voice to have dropped, but only barely. Geralt, talking her through the pain, sounding as if he’s in pain himself, voice tense even as he speaks meaningless soothing words.</p>
<p>She doesn’t want him here, doesn’t want anyone here to witness her body turning itself inside out. But, if it were to be anyone here to hold her hand as she falls apart, he's the best option.</p>
<p>She squeezes his hand impossibly tighter, and he squeezes back, and they ride through the waves of pain together.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>“Yen?” Geralt whispers, and it sounds about as loud as a waterfall rushing down around her. She flinches away, hands trying to come up and cover her ears, but the leather straps fastened around her wrists stop her. “Hold on,” Geralt says, and the straps loosen. She opens her eyes, and sees him leaning over her, fighting with the heavy buckles.</p>
<p>“What are you doing?” she asks, voice rougher than gravel, grating against her eardrums. “What is this?”</p>
<p>Geralt finishes with the straps, and Yennefer immediately draws her limbs in against her body. She’s shaking, feeling hollowed out in the wake of the fire that burned through her.</p>
<p>“You… you lost a lot of blood,” Geralt says, looking into her with those deep, sad eyes of his. “We had to save your life.”</p>
<p>“What did you do to me.” It’s flat, not a question, but an accusation.</p>
<p>Geralt cringes, and walks away returning shortly with a mirror. “We gave you the Trial of the Grasses,” he explains, as Yennefer stares in horror at what she’s become. Most striking is her eyes—her pupils are slitted like a cat’s, dilating wide as she watches. Her jaw, too, has shifted—it’s still out of place, but less so, and it’s an effort to get her tongue to work the way it should. She adjusts the mirror, and finds that her shoulder no longer juts up to nearly her ear. Lying on her back, she can feel that her spine fits flesh against the wooden surface beneath her like it never has before—her crookback is gone entirely, but twinges with pain at every movement.</p>
<p>She’s something entirely unknown. Worse than that, they <em>won—</em>they had her at their mercy the whole time. Her choices haven’t meant <em>shit. </em></p>
<p>She puts the mirror down and lets out the breath she’s been holding. Geralt puts the mirror back, and then returns to her side, tentatively taking her hand and squeezing gently. She doesn’t have the will to pull away.</p>
<p>“Yen? Say something,” he pleads.</p>
<p>She’s silent for a long moment, trembling atop the table, eyes watering. Finally, she speaks. “You should have let me die,” she says softly, staring blankly at the ceiling, tears rolling down her temples. “At least I had a choice.”</p>
<p>“Don’t say that,” he begs, his other hand coming up to clutch at her limp hand too, bringing it close to his chest. “Don’t say that. Is it really so bad?”</p>
<p>Yennefer says nothing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please take a minute to leave kudos or a comment if you liked it! also, come find me on <a href="https://handwrittenhello.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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